Hadassah
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Ziva and Tony face a tragedy no parents should have to go through. With a few words of wisdom from the man they both consider a father figure, the promise of their two sons, and some much-needed mourning, they struggle to overcome it. Established Tiva. Appearances by McGee, Palmer, Ducky, etc. The NCIS team, essentially, and a second generation. Anthony & Elijah 'verse.
1. Prologue

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* * *

_Hadassah_  
_~prologue~_

* * *

She clutched the delicate gold necklace at her throat.

His eyes were glued to her knuckles. He didn't miss how white they were—it wasn't due to a tight grip, either; the Star of David pendant was too fragile to be maltreated. She was just pale; pale with worry, with fear, and with heartache.

He clasped his hands under his chin, gritting his teeth tightly. His eyes refused to leave her hand; he focused alternatively on the white-gold band of her engagement ring and on the sparkle of the star. He dug his teeth into his knuckles, waiting.

The silence was unbearable, the beige plastic chairs were unbearable, and the sterile, floral wallpapered walls surrounding them were unbearable. He wanted to say something. He had the irrational, completely inappropriate urge to crack a joke—but what the hell was there to joke about?

It seemed unbelievably cruel that a doctor could stick a couple in a room, tell them to make a decision, and go about his day.

He got up and shoved the chair back aggressively, rubbing the back of his head. He gripped his hair and paced away, and then whirled around, marching back to the chair and taking the back of it in his hands—his knuckles turned white, to match hers.

Her lips moved almost imperceptibly; he wondered if she was praying.

"What do you want to do, Ziva?" he asked tensely, his voice heavy.

Her lashes fluttered. Her fingers moved on her pendant.

She said nothing. He felt frustrated, out of control, impatient. He scraped the chair on the floor; she flinched.

"We have to make a decision," he said.

She moved. She let her necklace fall to her chest and pushed her thick, curly hair behind her ears. She ran her palms along her thighs, smoothing out the wrinkled material of her jeans.

"I do not think we have much of a choice at all," she said.

He couldn't figure out what she sounded like; he couldn't get any indication of what she was feeling from her voice. She'd been so maddeningly calm, so unspeakably strong, for the past three weeks that he was desperate to know how she was doing it. She hadn't for a moment given away to their boys that there was anything wrong.

She laced her fingers together, and looked narrowly at her palms.

He felt so guilty. He felt so _guilty_.

He was the one who wanted another. She was content with two.

She licked her lips.

"I do not want to hurt you, Tony," she said carefully.

He leaned on the chair heavily, and then let go of it as if he'd been burned—it was just plastic; it couldn't take all of his misplaced anger and pain. He walked around it and went down on one knee in front of her, grabbing her hands.

"It's up to you, Ziva," he said earnestly, his words unsteady.

For the first time, he saw a flicker of raw emotion in her dark eyes—and it was anger; annoyance.

"No," she said sharply. "It is up to us," she told him firmly. "You are my husband—"

"It's your _life_, Ziva!"

"It is your baby," she growled back.

He winced, hurt, and she curled her fingers around his, the pads of her fingertips stroking soothingly over his knuckles.

"I mean," she clarified, lowering her voice. "I mean that I do not want you to have no say. I do not want you to resent me."

He swallowed hard and looked down at their hands. He pushed his thumb over her diamond, nudging the gem back and forth on her ring finger. His eyes fell to her abdomen and he leaned forward, his forehead resting on their entwined hands.

"Ziva," he mumbled, so quietly she almost didn't hear. She tilted her head, turned her ear closer.

He stood abruptly and pulled the chair up close to her, sitting on the edge. He leaned forward on his knees, waiting until she met his eyes. He reached out and touched the pendent resting on her chest.

He shook his head.

"It isn't your fault," he told her. "I can't resent you."

He let his fingers run down her chest, until his hand was resting on the curve of her lower abdomen under her shirt. He pressed with his fingertips gently; he felt nothing, but he knew there was life there. She very gingerly pushed his hand away, and looked into his eyes again.

"There is nothing we can do," she said quietly. She lifted her shoulders. "Even—a second opinion, this specialist, he says there is nothing left. I have two boys at home," she said, her lashes quivering as she resisted blinking. "I cannot…martyr myself for a lost cause. My sons need their mother, Tony."

He nodded. He reached up and pushed his hand through her hair, cradling the back of her neck in his palm.

"_I_ need their mother," he said hoarsely; selfishly.

Her lips parted. She dipped her head in a solemn nod, and lifted her shoulders.

"You see?" she asked. "It is not a choice. It was never a _choice_."

He started to pull her closer, but she resisted.

"Do you think it is killing, Tony?" she asked starkly, her eyes fastened on his.

"I," he began hoarsely. "No—I don't—I've killed people. This isn't—killing."

She compressed her lips tightly, for just a moment.

"I think it is killing," she said.

She reached for the pendent at her throat again.

She was more religious than he was.

He leaned forward, hesitant to try to pull her close again. She moved her lips, and he heard soft whispers of Hebrew. She bowed forward and laid her head in his lap, her shoulders and breasts falling heavily on his knees and his thighs. He stroked her hair silently, listening to her prayer. His fingers moved over her cheeks, seeking to wipe tears away, but her face was dry as the desert.

His hands moved over her protectively, but he felt useless.

She sat up straight, startlingly straight, and she stood.

"I will inform the doctor."

He listened to her walk to the door and open it, speaking neutrally to the nurse waiting outside, and he bent forward heavily and covered his face with his hands.

* * *

_~prologue~  
_

* * *

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	2. Ehad

_a/n: i've actually had something like this conceptualized in my head for quite a while now, but it coalesced after i wrote those few little one-shots featuring the Tiva family and the Tiva babies, Anthony & Elijah. so we'll see how i do characterization-wise. i'm as comfortable writing Ziva as I am writing Gibbs, but Tony can be a bit tricky and most of my experience with him is either humor or in relation to Shepard/Gibbs storylines_

_that all being said, this particular pregnancy trauma happened to someone very close to me. that woman never gave me details, and i'm not even sure what her medical issue was, but i did get get some poignant stuff from the male involved, so the issue is close to my heart. _

* * *

_Hadassah_  
_~ehad~_

* * *

He dropped the keys twice in his shaky attempts to unlock their front door. She took them from him gently and performed the task with swift grace, opening the door and holding it for him. He rubbed the back of his neck tensely—he couldn't stop doing it—and stormed in.

He felt anxious, aggressive, and tired all at once. He had insisted he drive home, and she had quietly allowed him, looking at him the whole time with her expressive eyes. He saw she was concerned for him and that only made him angrier at himself—at the world. She had sat in silence the whole ride home, her forehead resting against the passenger's side window.

She shut the door snugly behind them; he stepped on one of Elijah's matchbox cars as he walked blindly into the living room.

"Damn," he swore violently.

Ziva bent down next to him and picked up the toy. She held it in her palm, and then she began looking around with a keen eye—and she started picking up others. She started—she started cleaning.

"Ziva, don't-"

"I have to."

He understood implicitly what she meant. He might not think now was the time to worry about getting their sons' crap off the living room floor, but she needed something to do; she needed to occupy herself with a task. She had always been like that. It helped her somehow—and since he was struggling with how he should help her, he backed off.

He stood mutely, watching her methodically pick up the toys. She had a stuffed dinosaur, and an odd, faint smile on her face, when he found the ability to speak again.

"Are you hungry? I could—"

"No," she interrupted him again, but there was no hostility in her tone, just acceptance. "You should go pick up the boys."

Tony gave her a frustrated look and made a motion with his hands. He rubbed the back of his neck again.

"Gibbs can keep 'em for another hour or two, Ziva," he retorted, a little too curtly. "Hell, I'll call him and ask him to keep them overnight."

She gave him a look.

"Elijah and Anthony are a handful," she remarked sharply. "Gibbs has done enough for us tonight."

He stared at her in disbelief. His mouth fell open and he fought down some meaner things that came to mind just out of stress, trying to understand her. She seemed to sense he didn't know what to say.

"Tony," she said carefully. "We have to tell them they are not going to have a sister."

He felt like concrete had been dropped on his head and suddenly his ears were ringing. He hadn't considered—he'd forgotten—they had kids, they had two little boys who were so excited to have a sister—and now—

"Can't we wait?" he asked desperately. "Look, Ninja, let's just wait until after it's done, let's get our heads around it—they're so little," he pleaded.

Ziva's face was unchanging.

"I will be exhausted and sore after it is done," she answered honestly. "Go get them. Bring them home. I will speak with them." She hesitated for a moment. "Ask Gibbs if he can watch them Tuesday."

He shook his head involuntarily. He couldn't imagine making his boys try to understand this. He couldn't understand why she was so adamant that they do this now—they could do it tomorrow night, even; it was Sunday, and her appointment wasn't until Tuesday. It was another way she coped, he figured, trying to keep up with her. He swallowed hard.

"I don't want to leave you alone right now," he admitted—his final protest.

She stood still in the middle of the living room, holding three matchbox cars, a stuffed dinosaur, and an old Gameboy.

"I want to be alone."

Her voice cracked, and he finally understood. It didn't matter how much of a blow to the gut it was for him to hear that—it made him panic, made him wonder if she was blaming him, because he had argued for this, and she'd given in, and now she was going through this because he thought two _wasn't enough_—

He swallowed hard again, and rubbed the back of his neck. He nodded, and lifted his hand, waving awkwardly.

"Uh, okay," he said gruffly, clearing his throat.

He didn't want to leave her—he wanted to be with her—but he felt like he was suffocating suddenly, and he thought he might need his own minute alone.

He turned and left the house without another word thinking maybe the drive and a head-slap or two might clear his head.

* * *

He had less trouble unlocking Gibbs' front door than he did his own. He got it in one try and walked right in—the only difference between this Gibbs and the Gibbs of years past was that this one locked his door when someone's kids were over, and just handed out keys to the team.

Gibbs was sitting on the couch, glasses on his nose, squinting at a wooden airplane in front of him. He had craft glue and a small sander, and he did not look up when DiNozzo entered and shut the door quietly. DiNozzo surveyed the sparsely furnished living room, grateful for Gibbs' chronic silence.

Gibbs lifted the model airplane, painting thick glue carefully on one wing.

"Is that, uh, Eli's toy airplane?" DiNozzo asked finally, breaking the silence. He nodded at the toy.

"Uh huh," Gibbs answered slowly, still concentrating.

"He get too rough with it?"

"No," drawled Gibbs. "Anthony broke it."

"Ah, jeez," muttered Tony. "You kidding me? He do it on purpose?" He had thought his oldest was past that sort of jealous, younger brother bullying behavior.

Gibbs nodded.

"Watched 'im snap the wing," he revealed sternly. "Sent 'im to bed."

Tony nodded.

"Was Eli upset?"

Gibbs nodded again, gently replacing the wing and ensuring it lined up perfectly with the fractured pits. He pressed the broken parts together, mushing the glue firmly and holding it.

"He hit Anthony. Sent him to bed, too."

DiNozzo winced—so the boys had given Gibbs a hard time. He hated that. They were usually fairly well behaved for babysitters. Well, at least as well behaved as the male children of Anthony DiNozzo were ever going to be. Ah well—if they were going to act up for anyone, he'd rather it be Gibbs than McGee. Gibbs would put the fear of God into them about it; McGee would just try to reason out their _feelings_ on the matter.

"So, uh, they're both asleep?" Tony asked.

Gibbs nodded. He looked up finally, his eyes meeting DiNozzo's over the top of the wire thin frames of his glasses. He sat impossibly still, holding the model airplane to secure the glue, quietly waiting for DiNozzo to speak or move—Tony wasn't sure what he was waiting for, and he didn't know what to say.

It took a moment for Tony to realize he wasn't physically able to say anything, and by the time he'd become aware of that personal moment of weakness, Gibbs broke the silence.

"Ziva okay?"

Tony blinked. He stared at Gibbs.

He nodded abruptly.

"Yeah," he said, though his voice sounded loud and falsely optimistic to his own ears. "Yeah, uh, they gave her something to stop her bleeding and—uh, fixed her system, to keep her from going into shock but," Tony paused, and shrugged. "The drugs…didn't work, and the problem got worse and she and the baby are in distress so," he stopped talking, his voice fading out silently.

He still wasn't sure he understood what was happening to Ziva. Two weeks ago, when she had gone in for a routine ultrasound—and to find out the sex—he hadn't expected to get a call telling him he had to come consult with her and her doctor immediately. He was still beating himself up for not being at the appointment, but it was their third child, and they had a hot case at work—but that didn't matter, because something had been wrong, and all of a sudden words like _crisis_ and _at risk_ and _abortion_ were being thrown around and somewhere in there Ziva had said—_it is a girl—_

"She's at home," Tony said. He winced. He thought he was talking too loud. "She sent me to get the boys." He pointed out the obvious.

Gibbs lowered his eyes and let him take a moment. He set the airplane down carefully, spread something on the mended part of it, and then ran his hands over the wood, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"So," he said gruffly, picking up DiNozzo's thread.

He looked up.

"So," Tony said slowly. "Since she's a severe case…we couldn't wait. So, we had to have that conversation."

Gibbs took his glasses off. He threw them down and rubbed his jaw, looking at DiNozzo with unreadable blue eyes. The lines in his face seemed twice as pronounced, and somehow, that made DiNozzo feel better. Gibbs pushed his knuckles together and looked at his senior field agent, the line of his jaw tense.

"What'd you guys decide?" he asked heavily.

"Terminate," Tony answered immediately. His throat felt numb. He shocked himself, answering so quickly. "Well, uh—induce labor," he clarified. "She needs to deliver but that—since it's too early, and the baby," He stopped talking again.

She didn't have real lungs, was the problem. She was too little. If this had happened— placental abruption, was the medical term, but Tony just thought of it as _nightmare—_later, when they were closer to the due date, Ziva could deliver early and most likely be okay, but it was too early. They'd tried drugs to hasten lung development, but Ziva's system was in distress, and if they waited in longer her vital organs could shut down and delivery could kill her—and then, there was no guarantee it would be a live delivery, anyway.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw.

"There any chance-?" he started.

DiNozzo shook his head. He shrugged.

"Obstetrician said…less than five percent chance she's born alive," he recited hollowly, "and then…even on a respirator, probably wouldn't make it through the night."

Gibbs didn't say anything. DiNozzo, struck by some absurd notion, smirked, because he had spent half of his life frustrated that Gibbs never said anything, and now he appreciated that Gibbs was silent. There was nothing Gibbs could say that would change any of this or fix it, and he was wise enough not to try; maybe because he had been the subject of every overused cliché and generic platitude and none of them had changed the fact that the love of his life and his only little girl were gone forever.

"You two need anything?" Gibbs grunted.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. His keys jingled in his hand. He clenched his teeth.

"Hey, yeah. Can you-? Watch Eli and Al? It's Tuesday, I'm taking her in—uh, that's when her appointment is."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed, without question. He stood up, glaring at the stuff on his coffee table. He walked around it and narrowed his eyes, giving Tony a long, intent look. "She okay, Tony?"

He knew Gibbs wasn't asking about Ziva's health this time and he shrugged, defeated.

"I don't know, Boss. Y'know Ziva. She's," he stumbled over a million adjectives, trying to pick out the perfect one for her, and then he said: "Invincible."

Gibbs smiled a little because he remembered that once, Ziva had told him she preferred Tony think she was invincible. They—both men—knew it wasn't true.

Gibbs lifted his chin.

"Might be better if I keep the boys overnight," he offered gruffly. "I can bring 'em home tomorrow mornin'. She doesn't work Mondays any—"

"No," DiNozzo said, and it was one of the only times he could ever remember outright interrupting Gibbs. He tightened his jaw and shook his head firmly. "Gibbs, she told me to bring them home."

"Don't think it's a good idea, Tony," Gibbs said mildly—and though Tony wanted to agree, because he selfishly wanted to be alone with his wife and just grieve, he couldn't come back without their kids.

"She wants her kids," he said sharply. "I'm not goin' back to my house without the boys, not if Ziva wants 'em home."

Gibbs studied him a moment, and then nodded curtly. He beckoned and turned, showing Tony down the hall. He'd put them in separate rooms since they were being such little brats to each other—but he smirked when he opened the master bedroom door and discovered both little DiNozzos curled up in the middle of the bed.

"Huh," he grunted.

DiNozzo glanced at him.

"What?"

"I put Eli in Kelly's room," Gibbs said gruffly. "Guess the punks made up."

DiNozzo stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at his sons. Elijah was spread-eagled on his back, sleeping with his mouth hanging open and his thin, dark hair sticking up in back. Anthony, lighter of complexion, bigger, and older, had his nose squashed up against his brother's arm—and he was snoring.

In spite of everything, Tony grinned. It was nice to be reminded he had two healthy sons.

"Dibs on the little one," Gibbs deadpanned, and marched over to pick Elijah up off the bed. He did his best not to wake him—which was easy enough, since Eli was still half a toddler and slept almost like the dead once he was out.

Tony wasn't so lucky with his firstborn; Anthony glared at him blearily immediately upon being jolted. He yawned matter-of-factly and grabbed onto his father, mildly glaring around until his eyes settled on Gibbs.

"Daddy," he said promptly. "Gunny was _mean_."

"Shouldn't have broken your brother's toy," Tony retorted, shrugging. Anthony just glared at Gibbs, and Gibbs gave him a smug look.

Tony ran his palm over Anthony's head to smooth his hair down and walked out of the room, with Gibbs following on his heels. Anthony rested his chin on Tony's shoulder and continued to look sullenly at Gibbs.

Elijah blinked wearily, slowly waking up and staring at Gibbs. Gibbs shifted him from a cradle to his hip and grabbed the toy plane off the coffee table as they passed it, showing it to the three-year-old. He smiled sleepily and took it.

"Be careful with it," Gibbs said gruffly. "It's still fixin'."

Elijah clutched it gently and rested his head on Gibbs' shoulder.

"Where we going?" he asked sluggishly.

"Dad's here," Gibbs answered. "You're going home."

Elijah yawned widely.

"Wanna see Ima," he said firmly. "Wanna leave Anty here."

"We're not leavin' Anthony," Tony retorted, glancing over his shoulder as they walked out to the car with the boys. He let the five-year-old slide from his hip to stand next to him as he opened the door to situate car seats. "Listen," he said sternly, looking down at Anthony. "You're gonna apologize to your brother on the way home, and the two of you are going to behave," he said. "Ima doesn't feel good."

"Okay," Anthony said grudgingly.

He got into the car, and Tony took Elijah from Gibbs, shutting the older one in and walking around to buckle in the little one. Gibbs stood back by the front of the car, watching. When the boys were buckled in safely, and Elijah was holding his toy safely away from Anthony and still blinking sleepily, Tony trudged back up to Gibbs.

He rubbed the back of his head anxiously.

He looked at Gibbs helplessly.

Gibbs grasped his shoulder and squeezed firmly, giving his agent a stubborn, encouraging nod.

"Take care of her, Tony," he ordered curtly. "I don't need to see you tomorrow," he added sharply; pointedly.

DiNozzo nodded.

"Got it, Boss," he said dully—and there was none of the usual enthusiasm in his words.

* * *

The floor was immaculate and devoid of matchbox cars when he arrived home, and the cleanliness worried him. He shut the door loudly.

"Ziva?"

"MOM!" Anthony yelled, and Tony swiftly hit him in the back of his head—it was gentle but firm, and he took the boy by the collar and stopped him from running madly into the house.

"I said quiet, son," he growled authoritatively. "She doesn't feel good."

Anthony whined and struggled under Tony's grip. Elijah, firmly perched on his father's hip, aimed a swift kick at his brother's head. His foot collided, and Anthony howled. Tony swore under his breath.

"Elijah Todd DiNozzo," he barked, startling the kid.

He felt like throttling them both for their behavior—his hopes that they'd get sleepy again in the car had been dashed, they were wide awake and rambunctious—but he restrained himself. He had no chance to discipline Elijah any further, because Ziva peered around the corner and as usual, at the sight of their mother, both kids shaped up immediately.

Anthony started to bolt towards her, but Tony yanked him back.

"Easy," he ordered. "Remember? Gentle," he reminded him. They had been telling the boys to be gentle with Ziva for weeks now, and it was more necessary now than ever.

Anthony nodded, Tony released him, and he trotted more calmly over to Ziva and hugged her. She smiled softly and stroked his hair, smiling down at him.

"Were you good for Gibbs?" she asked.

"He spanked me," Anthony retorted, pouting.

Ziva smiled again, and said nothing. She met Tony in the middle of the living room and took Elijah, even though he protested slightly with a tight-lipped look and tried to stiffly keep her from lifting him. He showed her his toy airplane immediately.

"Anty broked my plane," he said unhappily. "Gunny fixed it."

Ziva looked down at Anthony.

"That is why you were spanked," she said simply.

The five-year-old seemed unbelievably annoyed that he was getting no sympathy. He was still startled that his favorite old Marine in the world had actually had the nerve to pop him one on the butt.

"Will Gibbs watch them on Tuesday, or must I ask Tim?" Ziva asked.

"He's got 'em," DiNozzo answered, still eyeing her warily. She really shouldn't be holding Eli. He was heavy, and his heel was digging into her stomach. He inched closer, as if to take him back, and Ziva took a sharp step backwards, her lips tightening.

They shared a charged look, and Tony lifted his hands, relenting. She turned her head and studied Elijah, tucking his curls behind his hears.

"Pajamas, I think," she decided mildly. "Then Aba and I must speak with you."

"I don't wanna put on my pajamas," Anthony said loudly.

Ziva said something curtly in Hebrew, and he was silenced immediately. He gave her a slightly sullen, slightly wary look, and scampered off to his room. She stroked Eli's hair again, and rolled her eyes after Anthony.

"Here," she said, handing Elijah back. "I will go fight him into his Pjs."

Tony nodded, and headed towards Elijah's room to do the same.

"Which footies do you want to wear tonight, buddy?" he asked.

Elijah looked at him with suspicious eyes.

"Pjs are for babies," he said bluntly.

Tony gave him a baleful look. There was no telling where the kids' sudden aversion to pajamas had come from, but he figured they had bigger problems. He'd coax Eli into some dinosaur footie pajamas and Ziva would easily convince Anthony to put on his Batman pants and there would be no problem.

It was late, and Tony was still reluctant to have this conversation—but he wanted to support Ziva, and this was what she insisted on. So when he had Eli dressed down for bedtime, he marched him into Anthony's room and stood in the doorway as he walked over to his mother and hugged her leg. Ziva presided over Anthony changing underwear and getting his pajamas on.

"Ziva," Tony said quietly.

She turned and looked at him. He lifted his brows. She shook Eli loose gently and moved over to him. He lowered his voice.

"How are we going to-?"

"It will not be so difficult, Tony," she said, shrugging. "They are children. They are more resilient than we are."

He reached out and rested his palm against her lower back. She smiled at him, though the smile did not quite reach her dark eyes. He couldn't muster a smile back, but he did lean closer and brush his lips against her cheek.

"_Stop_," demanded Anthony, pointing at him rudely. "Kissing is _gross_."

"I like it when he kisses me," Ziva said matter-of-factly. She swept over to the bed and sat down, snatching Elijah onto her lap and hugging him. He beamed, almost smugly, at Anthony, and Anthony stuck his tongue out.

On his way to sit on the stool that Anthony used to reach his drawers, Tony tapped the boy gently in the back of the head again—he was in rare form tonight, acting like such a little delinquent. Tony sat on the little wooden stool and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and Ziva sat with Eli in her lap, waiting patiently for the boys to settle.

Finally, Anthony sighed.

"I said sorry for breaking ET's toy," he groused, clearly under the impression he was in trouble.

"_No_," whined Eli. "No, Ima, _not_ ET," he complained, his lip shaking. Ziva kissed his head, and snapped her fingers harshly at Anthony.

"Do not call him that," she ordered shortly. "He hates it."

Anthony's lips puckered, but he shut his mouth. Tony grabbed him and pulled him closer to him, draping his arms over his shoulders. He cleared his throat gruffly and nudged Anthony's shoulders affectionately with his knees.

"Boys," he began in a deep voice, and he was suddenly harshly remembered of the exact way they had first told them they were getting a sibling. He faltered then, and it took him a moment to continue. "Mom and I have to talk to you."

Ziva sat up straight. She fixed Elijah's tangled hair maternally, pushing it back with two fingers, her face unreadable. She smiled at him, and then looked at Anthony. She met Tony's eyes briefly, and the only indication he saw that she was in pain was how white her knuckles were as she held Elijah on her lap.

"Eli, Al," she said mildly. "I know we were excited about having a little sister," she continued. She paused and tilted her head, looking at both boys again. She shook her head.

Tony waited. For a moment, he thought she was just giving them a minute to listen up, but then he realized she couldn't get the words out. Her face hadn't changed, but it was as if she were frozen. Elijah blinked at her with side eyes, and before Anthony could open his mouth, Tony had to step in—swiftly.

"Guys," he said gruffly. "There isn't going to be a baby," he told them, unsure if he was too cut and dry about it.

Ziva's lashes quivered. She compressed her lips. Elijah looked down at her, blinking his eyes.

"Okay," Anthony said. He shrugged his shoulders. He leaned back against his father and looked around, as if waiting for the next big thing to be revealed. He seemed unperturbed, and he frowned. "Girls are dumb anyway."

On instinct, Tony's mouth tightened and his clenched his fist, half a second away from wearing the boy out for his insensitivity—but he realized how irrational that was; Anthony was five and he didn't understand what was going on. Ziva gave him a cooling look and her lips parted.

"Resilient," she said quietly.

Elijah kept blinking rapidly. He put his hand on Ziva's abdomen.

"How come?" he asked.

Anthony shifted from one foot to the other, watching sharply.

"She is sick," Ziva said softly. "She cannot breathe."

"Ima, are you gonna _die_?" Anthony asked suddenly, looking stricken. "Luke Skywalker's mommy _died_."

"No," Ziva assured him mildly.

"I still see the baby," Elijah said, his little brows furrowing. He touched Ziva's abdomen again. "_Look_."

"Yes," she agreed. She put her hand on his. She tilted her head and shifted, tapping Elijah under his chin and lifting his head up. "She will not come live with us, though," she explained.

There was no reason to try and tell them what was going to happen. They just needed to know that there wasn't going to be a baby, and hopefully they wouldn't dwell on it too long—because if they fixated on it, Tony knew that would kill Ziva.

"Okay," Anthony said again. Then, in a rare bout of perceptive maturity, he said: "Ima I'm sorry."

She looked at him soothingly.

"It is not your fault, Al."

Elijah was still staring at her abdomen.

"Shiva," he said.

Ziva looked startled. Her lips parted. Tony was unable to stop the smile that took hold of his face—Anthony may be the talker, and the kid that had walked quickly, learned everything quickly, and developed quickly, but Elijah was the most empathetic child in the world. He sensed things that Anthony's mile-a-minute mind never thought to consider.

Ziva nodded at him.

"Shiva," she agreed, pressing kisses to his face.

It was mourning. Tony remembered it from when her father had died. He leaned forward and kissed the crown of Anthony's head. Anthony squirmed away and put his hands on his hips, glaring at Tony. Tony gave him a half-cocked smile, and Anthony fought down a yawn.

"I tired," Elijah said, in tandem with his brother's yawn.

Ziva nodded. She wrinkled her nose, and pressed her forehead to his.

"Yes," she murmured. "Ima is tired, too."

* * *

He rubbed his face vigorously with a towel, drying off after a shower that nearly scalded his skin off. He left the bathroom in a robe and went to pull on a clean pair of boxers, chucking the towel into the corner with a pair of dirty jeans and one of Elijah's ripped teddy bears.

Ziva was sitting up in bed. Her hair was loose around her face—hiding her face—and she was bent forward slightly, reading over some papers from a slick, laminated manila envelope.

"What's that?" Tony asked, dropping his robe and pulling the boxers on.

"Insurance," she answered after a moment. "Procedural information."

He felt a pang of frustration. She didn't have to sit in their bed and bother with that stuff right now—he could deal with it. He'd worry about all of it. He didn't understand why she wouldn't just put all the logical stuff away. They were going to lose a child. Insurance didn't matter.

He shut his drawer tensely and then leaned over the bed and took the folder away from her. She gave him a sharp look, but said nothing. She gathered her hair in her hands and leaned back against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her. She rubbed her feet together. They looked swollen, and he swallowed hard.

He threw the folder onto the floor in the corner and came around to her side of the bed. He sat down and pulled her feet into his lap; beginning a familiar, gentle massage. She closed her eyes and let her hair fall, grasping the headboard behind her for a moment. Then, almost absentmindedly, her hand fell to her abdomen. Her fingers jerked as if she had been burned.

He looked at her.

"Ziva?" he asked quietly. Her brows rose. "Have you—felt her move?"

Ziva parted her lips. She inclined her head.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Not as often as she should. It feels wrong," she said starkly. "Feeble."

His hands ran over her small feet and he swallowed hard. He shifted to his knees and crawled up beside her, stretching out on his side and propping his head on his elbow. He slipped his hand under her arm and ran his palm over her stomach lightly, seeking warmth and movement. He remembered this from the other two. He wanted to feel it one more time.

There was nothing, though, and he wondered if maybe that was best. He wasn't sure he wanted the tangible reminder of what they were losing. It was bad enough that Ziva would never be able to forget the feeling.

He moved his hand and clutched her arm, kissing her shoulder. He rested his forehead there, nudging her foot with his gently.

He didn't think before he spoke.

"You think Gibbs feels like this?" he asked.

"I do not want to know what Gibbs feels," Ziva answered violently. "I have been pregnant twenty-two weeks. His daughter was eight. It is different, and I never want to know what that feels like."

Tony nodded. He pressed his lips against her arm again, and squeezed softly.

"You don't have to act like you can't be as upset," he said tensely.

"I decided to end her life, Tony," Ziva said sharply. "It is _different_."

He sat up abruptly and put his arm around her, pulling her close.

"You aren't a murderer, Ziva," he snapped, his eyes boring into hers.

She took his hand in a tight grip, and pressed it low beneath her ribs. He did feel it this time—feeble, like she said; sick. Distressed.

"She is alive," Ziva said hoarsely. "Wednesday, she will be dead. What do you call that, Tony?"

"It isn't your _fault_, Ziva," he retorted, raising his voice. He struggled for a moment, and then quieted down—he couldn't wake the boys. "_Aht lo levad_."

He thought for a moment she would storm out of the room. Her body tensed as if she was about to bolt.

Instead, she turned on her side and she lay down next to him. She reached out and placed her palm on his neck and she closed her eyes. He sighed harshly and turned towards her, staring for a moment, hoping she'd reopen her eyes. She didn't.

"I love you," he told her.

She moved her head forward, and kissed his lips, but she wouldn't look at him.

* * *

_feedback definitely appreciated, as this is my first in-depth 'Tiva' angst_  
_-alexandra_  
_story #153_


	3. Shtayim

_a/n:_ _a personal opinion note: i do get the impression that Ziva is religious and takes comfort in Judaism and her faith. she doesn't go out of her way to learn about christian holidays, and i feel that indicates a very deep sort of personal religious sentiment in her, even if she sets it aside to her job-or perhaps she reconciles it in her mind with loyalty to israel, her people, etc. i see DiNozzo as more of a fallen Catholic sort of guy, like many of us with Italian-American in us tend to be. _

_i try to portray the difference in how men vs. women would feel concerning this sort of thing; and just a little reminder that this isn't a political statement **and** that many couples face choices like this every day, make different decisions, and deal with many different outcomes. _

* * *

_Hadassah_  
_~Shtayim~_

* * *

The last person he expected to see Tuesday morning was Ziva, but the moment she stepped out of the car he realized how foolish it was to think she would be wallowing or hiding from the reality of the situation—he knew her better than that.

Gibbs met them in the driveway, leaving the door to his house wide open. Her appointment was early; they were dropping the kids off and Gibbs was taking them to the Navy Yard with him.

"But I want to go to day care," Anthony complained loudly, scuffing his shoe on the concrete as he hopped out of the car.

His father ignored him. Ziva tangled car keys around her finger and glanced over at her husband and her oldest. She spared a quick look at Gibbs, tucked hair behind her ears, and turned to get Elijah out of his car seat.

"_Daaaad_," snapped Anthony, stomping his feet. "It's _kickball_ day. I want to _go_!"

"Anthony," growled DiNozzo sharply. "For the last time, you're hangin' out with Gibbs today."

"But he _spanked_ me!" protested Anthony. He crossed his arms and glared at Gibbs from his side of the car, barely reaching over the hood.

Gibbs gave him a blithe wave and held the door for Ziva, helping her get Elijah.

"Mommy won't be able to pick you up from day care," Tony was saying. "That's why you're not going."

"How come Agent Timmy can't—"

"Stop _whining,_ dammit!" barked Tony.

Gibbs and Ziva both looked up. Neither said anything—it was clear DiNozzo was on edge, and Anthony must have been giving him a hard time all morning, but his tone was harsher than need be. Anthony sprang away from him and his face crumpled. He stood there looking upset, and Gibbs saw Ziva's mouth tighten angrily as she ducked back down and drew Elijah from the car.

Gibbs gave DiNozzo another hard look, and then reached for the kid, his eyes lingering for a moment on Ziva's abdomen. She cleared her throat sharply and handed him Elijah. The three-year-old blinked at him in a sleepy, uncertain way. Gibbs lifted his eyebrows and smiled at him.

"Mornin', bud," he said.

Elijah rubbed his eyes and stared at Gibbs. He turned and looked at Ziva unhappily. Ziva smiled at him, leaned forward to kiss his brow, and pushed his curls back. She turned to Gibbs, her hand resting on the little boy's forehead.

"He is scared I am going to die," she said matter-of-factly.

Elijah put his thumb in his mouth; Ziva gently but firmly pulled it out and tapped it with two fingers, shaking her head at him.

"Do not, Elijah," she said quietly.

Gibbs tilted his head.

"Mom's gonna be fine," he said gruffly. "She's a survivor."

He caught Ziva's eye. Her lip turned up at the corner, but it wasn't really a smile that she gave him. She stroked Elijah's curls back again absently, and then pulled her hand back, running it through her own hair.

DiNozzo checked his watch.

"Ziva," he said carefully.

She nodded. Gibbs stepped forward and put his hand against Ziva's shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. She inclined her head, turning her cheek almost expectantly to the side, and he gave her a paternal kiss, resting his temple against the side of her cheek for a moment.

"Your boys need you, Ziver," he said gruffly, before he stepped back and gave her the room to get back in the car.

The reminder might give her a little more strength to get through this without beating herself up too much.

She nodded curtly. She gave Elijah a wave, and crouched down to kiss Anthony goodbye as DiNozzo walked—well, marched—him over to Gibbs. She murmured softly in Hebrew and Anthony twisted around unhappily, scuffing his feet some more. He finally agreed to a hug and trudged backwards, watching his parents leave.

"See ya, Boss," DiNozzo muttered, without looking at him, and with a dull sort of acceptance in his tone. "Ziva, you want me to drive?"

"No," Ziva said curtly.

Gibbs pulled Anthony back by his shoulder as they backed out of the driveway, and held onto his arm. Anthony looked up and blinked stubbornly, giving Gibbs an annoyed look.

"I don't want to go to NCIS with _you_," he growled sassily.

"Okay," Gibbs retorted, shrugging. "Eli 'n' me will go, and you can stay in the basement. Might miss out on some ice cream."

Anthony _glared_ at him—he was lucky; he had much more of Ziva's dark, threatening look; Elijah was the one who got the sandy-haired, all-American golden boy DiNozzo genes.

"I'll go," Anthony decided. He pointed at Gibbs menacingly. "But don't spank me again, Gunny."

Gibbs shrugged.

"Don't be a punk to your brother."

* * *

Tony was struck by how different this time around was compared to the other two. Their first kid? He'd been a nervous anxious wreck, running around like a chicken with his head cut off, tripping over equipment, saying stupid things. It had been a time consuming ordeal, too—started at four in the morning, ended some time late the next night, and Ziva had sprained his hand. The second baby had been a breeze; Elijah had come so fast there was no time for an epidural, but even then, Ziva claimed he wasn't nearly as bad as Anthony.

This time—he didn't know how to think about this time. There was no anxious excitement; there were no smiles, no jokes, no one calling them to check in, no Abby bouncing around in the waiting room. It was just—_waiting_. They doctor had induced labor, and there was nothing left to do but sit in the medical silence of the immaculate room and _wait_.

He was unsure if he should make conversation, or remain silent—and if he did talk, what should he talk about?

He sat in a chair by her bed, his hand resting on her forehead. He moved his hand back through her hair when she winced. He checked his watch.

"Sixteen minutes," he said. He let his arm fall onto the bed and scooted the chair closer, tilting his head. "Are they bad?"

She licked her lips.

"Worse than Eli," she answered quietly. "Easier than Anthony."

"It's always easier than Anthony," Tony joked.

She smiled.

"He will not be so wild once he begins Kindergarten," she said "He is used to being the big kid. He will find out…there is always a bigger kid."

Tony nodded. Anthony started Kindergarten in September. He had completely—forgotten he was supposed to be feeling parental about that, in light of all that was going on.

"Kindergarten," he muttered, shaking his head.

He took his hand from Ziva's hair and rubbed his jaw, opening his eyes wide. She smiled a little and turned her head, looking straight up at the ceiling. He scratched the back of his neck and swallowed hard, slipping his left hand over hers.

"How you feelin', Ziva?" he asked softly.

She parted her lips, still staring at the ceiling. Her lashes lowered slightly, and she seemed to be pondering a very deliberate answer. She lifted a hand, and her fingers brushed the pendent at her throat.

"I do not feel happy," she said simply. Her thumb pressed into a point on the star. "This," she gestured at her abdomen, "it is supposed to be happy."

He let his eyes travel over her body. He hesitated, and then he reached over, releasing her hand, and let his palm skim lightly over her. He knew there was no chance he would feel anything at this point, but she was warm, and he lowered his head a little.

"What did Gibbs say to you this morning?" he inquired gently.

She lifted her shoulders. She didn't answer, and he hadn't really expected her to. She never really talked about the things Gibbs said to her.

"Did it help?" Tony asked desperately.

She didn't answer that, either. She turned her head towards him and lifted her necklace. The fluorescent lighting in the room glinted off the gold and created sparkles and prisms on the surfaces around them.

"It is intended to be passed on to the first born daughter," she told him. For the first time since this began, she looked uncertain, lost, and confused.

Her cheeks were pale. She took a deep breath, and winced.

"I do not feel well," she said abruptly. She reached for his hand. "I think—you should fetch the obstetrician."

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, knocking his plastic chair over in haste.

* * *

Timothy McGee passed Abby a sandwich and two evidence bags. She took the items in her left and right hand respectively, and headed into her office.

"Is Gibbs back?" she asked, dropping down in her chair.

McGee shook his head. Abby indicated he should shut her office door and he did, though he didn't know who would possibly walk in on them.

"Anthony was demanding ice cream he'd been promised or somethin'," McGee continued, walking back over with his own sandwich in hand. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite Abby, moving some things on her desk.

She reached into a small mini fridge behind her and threw him a bottle of water.

"Eli?" she asked.

McGee frowned.

"Still asking if mommy's okay every five minutes," he answered.

Abby's face puckered with sadness and she made a distressed noise in the back of her throat, slumping in her chair. The poor little tyke—he had looked so small and sleepy and sad when Gibbs had carried him in this morning, and though his brother was rambunctious as ever—sitting at DiNozzo's desk and pretending to be a little agent—Eli had just sat listlessly in Gibbs' lap and buried his head on the Boss's shoulder.

"I wonder why Anthony isn't scared," Abby mused, opening her sandwich and picking tomatoes off of it. She shot McGee a glare, but didn't chastise him for forgetting.

McGee shrugged slowly, tilting his head.

"Nothing really fazes Anthony," Tim answered under his breath. "He tripped and ran headlong into Tony's desk, busted his lip open, and then gloated about it."

Abby laughed gleefully, but her laughter faded quickly, and she leaned back, unscrewing the top of her water bottle. She held the small plastic lid thoughtfully in her hand, then flicked it onto the table and tipped the liquid to her lips. Her eyes dulled a little, and she frowned to herself.

"Abs?" McGee ventured. He picked at his own food. "You, uh, talked to Ziva?"

Abby swallowed, and put her water down. She lifted her shoulders and shook her head, pursing her lips.

"No," she admitted softly. "Not since—not since Tony told us there was something wrong with her baby."

McGee moved his head, and she leaned forward, trying to catch his eye.

"Tony talk to you?" she asked carefully.

"Little bit," McGee said. "He told me what was wrong with her, and Max and I did a little research on it," he continued, referring to his wife.

Abby nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. McGee rubbed his mouth.

"He called me the other night to tell me what they'd probably have to do," he added reluctantly. "I think he wanted me to give him some advice."

"I hope you didn't," Abby said anxiously.

"I couldn't," McGee answered, stricken. "Jesus, Abby," he muttered. "He didn't bat an eyelid at the beginning. He said all this was worst case scenario—"

"Yeah, but we never expected worst-case scenario to happen to Ziva," Abby finished for him.

McGee shrugged.

"Dunno why not," he muttered, disgruntled. "Bad things always happen to Ziva."

"Hey, hey," placated Abby. "Not any more. Not for years. She's got Anthony and Eli and I think she counts Tony as a good thing," Abby grinned but again, the smile did not last long before it faded. "This must be so hard for her."

"Dunno," McGee muttered, for lack of anything better to say. Maxine had cried when he told her what the final decision was—Tim didn't blame her; he'd felt a little choked up himself. His little girl was just about eight months old, and after all the chaos and frustration and love he'd been through with a newborn, he couldn't imagine what Tony and Ziva were going through.

He rubbed his jaw again, pulling his sandwich in half.

"DiNozzo said the doctor said there's a chance—"

"Timmy," Abby interrupted softly. Her eyes shimmered and she gave him a pitying look, like she thought he was naïve. "It's just lip service. Her baby is too little...it won't be able to breathe."

McGee frowned.

"They gave her drugs to try and speed up development," he said half-heartedly. That was one of the last details Tony had given him before he and Ziva had become slightly more tight-lipped about the whole situation. The last time they had talked, DiNozzo had said they were going to end up having to terminate if Ziva's system took any more shock, and McGee hadn't really thought that was going to happen.

It had.

"Did they find out if it was a boy or a girl?" Abby asked hopefully.

McGee moved his head slowly.

"That's, uh, what she was there for when she found out the baby was in distress," he answered, pausing for a moment. "He—they…never told me if they found out."

Abby closed her eyes for a moment, grieving for her friends. She licked her lips.

"Ziva's leaning on Gibbs," she said intuitively; she sensed it. It was why Gibbs was acting different, too—why he was almost parenting the kids for her. "It," Abby began quietly—"It must have been a girl."

* * *

Childbirth was messy and chaotic, and he was relieved that he had experience with it and was no longer shocked by it. He hovered somewhere between Ziva's shoulder and her knee, pacing, anxiously running his hand over her thigh for comfort occasionally. He was restless and all of his muscles were tense; he was exhausted from keeping it together.

Induced labor didn't guarantee quick or easy labor, and she hadn't had an easy time of it at all—the added emotional trauma of having full knowledge that this was essentially a stillbirth took a toll on them both, and a few bad medical scares amidst seven hours of labor wasn't good.

She wasn't very loud—but she hadn't been very vocal with the other two, either. The doctor leaned up to look at her, and Tony stepped back up to her shoulder, gripping her hands in his. She leaned forward and he supported her shoulders. The doctor nodded—god, they were almost there, and he just wanted it to be over.

She gripped his hand hard, nails breaking his skin, and he knew if he braced his wrist just right she wouldn't sprain him like she had the first time. She grit her teeth together and dipped her head forward. She cried out softly, leaned back, and the doctor turned to a nurse and snapped his fingers.

"Mr. DiNozzo," he said curtly, beckoning him over.

He hesitated for the briefest second, but Ziva pushed at his hand, nodding, her eyes still closed, and let him know it was okay to leave her side. He flew down to the edge of the bed, avoiding looking between her legs in the stirrups. He swallowed hard.

"Clear the throat," he heard the obstetrician order.

He saw the umbilical cord—familiar sights, all of it, he'd been here for the birth of both his sons—but he didn't want to be here this time; he didn't want to see. The silence was unbearable. The boys had both screamed the minute they were fresh in the world.

She was supposed to cry.

The doctor growled something under his breath and beckoned DiNozzo forward. He steeled himself and walked over to the table where they were working on the baby—so little, so pale—so—

"Oxygen," snapped the doctor tensely. He grabbed DiNozzo's hand and pressed two of his fingers to the tiny infant's chest.

Tony's heart nearly stopped in his chest; he felt the faintest flutter—he felt a butterfly-like stammer—and the next thing he knew the nurse was putting the baby in his arms and it all came back to him instantly—how to hold her, support the head. The nurse leaned over with a tube, but she paused, and glanced at the doctor.

Tony set his jaw and moved his fingers to her cheek. He brushed his hand over little blue lips and felt the faintest—just a small hint—of warm breath, and for just a second, he smiled. She didn't move, and the nurse shook her head, glancing at the doctor again.

He knew, on an instinctive, personal level, that she wasn't going to make it, and he knew it fully and painfully when she didn't kick or cry or squirm in the cradle of his arms like his other babies had. He was—grateful, still, for that split, unforgettable moment when he had felt her heartbeat.

The doctor stood, metal making a scraping noise as he moved, and it startled DiNozzo—he was shaken from a sort of trance, and the smile that had been on his lips faded. He felt sick; he swallowed down lightheadedness and forced himself not to pass out.

The nurse traded him a pink blanket for his still daughter, and he held it numbly, waiting until she took it back. The doctor stepped up with a solemn look on his face.

"Ask your wife if she wants to hold her," he advised quietly.

DiNozzo blinked at him. He turned and walked towards Ziva. He looked down at her, and she felt his gaze—and opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and heavy, tired; she was pale and her skin was covered in sweat. She shivered, and her lips shook; she waited for him to speak.

"He wants to know, uh," Tony began, his voice raw. "You want to hold her?" he asked.

Ziva struggled a little, leaning upwards. She looked conflicted, horrified, and then blank—and it all happened so fast, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He knew she was thinking she couldn't dare hold her—because she had been the party in this decision to end it—

"Tony," she began tiredly. "I cannot—"

"Hold her, Ziva," he pleaded. "Please, just hold her."

Ziva looked at him without words, and then she nodded, and he turned and gave the nurse a look. The woman brought the baby over, cleaned, wrapped in the soft pink blanket—her eyes were closed; she looked almost as if she were sleeping. Her mother looked frightened, and she did not reach her hands out—Tony took her, and sat down heavily, waiting for Ziva.

She startled him; she ran her hands violently through her hair and tilted her head back. She closed her eyes, and her fingers fumbled with her necklace, working with the clasp until the chain slackened and she let it slip from her neck and tangled it around her fingers.

She leaned forward and looked into the pink blanket, her hair falling over her shoulders and brushing tiny, relaxed fingers. Her lips moved. She placed her hand on the baby's forehead, and then let the necklace fall gingerly against her unmoving chest.

"Ziva," Tony began quietly, unsure of her gesture.

She just compressed her lips, and shot him a hard look. He started to coax her to take the baby; she leaned back.

"I cannot," she said, more firmly. She kept her voice low. "It will only make it worse, Tony," she whispered to him. "Do not—do not."

He respected her wish, and stood up.

The nurse was at his side, clipboard in hand. She pulled him aside, and then someone else was there, taking the baby from him, turning away.

"Is there a name you want us to put down on the birth certificate?" she asked sympathetically.

He felt confused—birth certificate? But they had terminated—ah, but she had taken a breath; her heart had fluttered. She—she needed a name.

He started to speak to Ziva, but she was curled away from him. He closed his mouth, and shook his head.

The nurse wrote, _baby girl DiNozzo: born 3:51; died 3:53._

* * *

"I want to see my mom," Anthony informed Gibbs seriously, standing stubbornly on the basement stairs and refusing for the sixth time to go to bed.

Gibbs threw down the sander in his hands and marched up the stairs, snatching Anthony up easily and firmly and carrying the protesting little snot right back upstairs to Kelly's old room. He sat him down on the bed, crouched in front of him, and glared.

"Al," he growled seriously. "You get out of this bed one more time, and I'll wear you out."

"I _told_ you not to _spank_ me _again_!" he retorted loudly.

Gibbs grit his teeth, and then swiftly decided to try another tactic.

"You think your mom wants you to give me a hard time?" he asked sharply.

Anthony frowned at him, but he clamped his mouth shut. He crossed his arms and swung his feet a little, barely missing kicking Gibbs' knee.

"I _want_ Ima," he whined stubbornly.

Gibbs stood up and sat down next to Anthony, frowning—though this time, it was more out of sympathy than anything else. The kids—they just didn't understand what was going on. Their daily routine was interrupted, they could sense their mother was hurting…Anthony was a wild card when things _weren't_ stressed and uncertain; it was no wonder he was acting out now.

"Look, bud," Gibbs said, nudging Anthony in a man-to-man kind of way. "She misses ya a hell of a lot, got it? But she's recoverin' and she needs to sleep until she feels better. Your dad told me to bring you home tomorrow afternoon."

It was a lie; when DiNozzo had called with an update, he'd had some bullshit plan to come pick up the kids and take them for a visit with Ziva and then take them home, and Gibbs had refused to allow it. Whatever Ziva thought she wanted—she needed to sleep, and to heal for a peaceful twenty-four hours. He told DiNozzo to be a man and put his foot down.

Anthony swung his feet again. He nodded.

"But she's okay?" he asked suspiciously. He gave Gibbs a wary look. "'Cause Daddy said she would be, but I was still thinkin' 'bout how Luke Skywalker's mommy died."

Gibbs nudged Anthony again.

"Well, your mom's stronger than some space alien, you got that? She doesn't just give up."

Anthony gave Gibbs an annoyed look.

"Amidala isn't an alien, _Gunny,"_ he growled.

Gibbs glared at him—it was about time to tell DiNozzo the McGees were babysitting the kids too much. Anthony blinked back obstinately, and folded his arms, as if waiting for Gibbs to make him get back in bed—and Gibbs was about to, until Elijah stumbled in.

His thumb was in his mouth, and he was crying.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead.

He reached out, and Elijah walked straight up to him, almost slamming his face into Gibbs' knee.

"Gunny," he sobbed thickly. "I want Mama!"

Anthony stared at him. Gibbs picked up Elijah and let the kid snuggle up to him and shove his face into his shoulder, holding him again the same way he'd comforted him all morning.

"Ima sings to him when he's crying," Anthony told Gibbs matter-of-factly. "Can _you_ sing, Gunny?"

Gibbs arched an eyebrow. He figured bedtime was a lost cause now, and stood up, taking Anthony's hand.

"C'mon," he ordered gruffly.

"Where're we goin'?" Anthony asked, hopping off the bed.

"Where we always go when stuff's botherin' us," Gibbs said seriously. "To build somethin'."

* * *

He was pulled out of a fitful, uncomfortable sleep when she pushed her hands gently through his hair. His back hurt like hell and his mouth was dry as cotton—he had fallen asleep half on her hospital bed, sitting up in the plastic chair.

"Hey," he grunted groggily. Then, rapidly, he blinked, and plunged on: "You okay? You need—ice chips, you hungry? Ziva?"

She moved her head, compressing her lips. She looked tired, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but her face had more colour and her hand wasn't shaking anymore. She had been examined thoroughly after the delivery so they could make sure she wasn't going to go into shock, and then she had been sedated—so she could get some rest, without the risk of bad dreams.

She turned onto her side, wincing with the movements, and pulled pillows under her neck.

"I am not hungry," she said in a simple voice.

He coughed, cleared his throat, and rubbed his hair violently, blinking to wakefulness. He nodded to himself, as if agreeing with ther statement, and looked around the clean recovery room. He remembered—being in rooms like this before, only then, there had been a clear plastic crib at the edge of her bed, with a healthy, sleeping baby in it.

In this recovery room, they were alone.

He felt like something was missing, and his eyes fell to her chest—bare. The necklace; that's right—her necklace was gone.

He reached out and brushed his fingers against the place where it usually rested. Her lips puckered.

"You were supposed to pick up the boys," she said slowly. "I asked you to take them home, get them back in their routine."

He stared at her, and then his mouth tightened.

"Gibbs nixed it," he said curtly.

Ziva's mouth hardened.

"Gibbs is not their father," she said, surprisingly harshly. "I want them at home. I want to go home."

"You aren't being discharged until tomorrow," Tony said tensely. "Look, Ziva, I mentioned the idea to Gibbs and he threatened my life. He's holdin' them hostage. I'm not goin' over there."

Her face was white; tense. She was angry with him—but he sensed she just needed to feel angry, so he let her be.

"I'm not leavin," he said bluntly.

"I—"

"Don't tell me you want to be alone," he snapped, sitting up straighter. He held his hand out at an angle from his head, a pained look flashing through his eyes. "You aren't the only person suffering, Ziva," he told her frankly.

It was a bold emotional statement from him, and it cowed her some; she pressed her lips together and tilted her head back. She reached for his hand and laced her fingers into it, squeezing tightly—but gently. There was no strain in her grip, just an attempt to soothe him.

He pulled the chair closer and reached for her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He tilted her face close to his.

"You scared me there, Ninja," he muttered hoarsely. "You got sick, you had a bleed, some minor shock," he remembered—there had been a lot of squealing machines and fast movements for a moment there, right after the nurse had taken the baby away. He'd been kicked out, and it ended up being a minor thing—but standing alone in the hallway, he experienced the worst eight minutes of his life.

It was impossible to explain—he had held his daughter in her first and last moments of life today, and yet in those agonizing minutes when he thought they were going to tell him Ziva was gone; he hated that little baby as much as he automatically loved her. He was vehemently glad they had chosen to do this, painful as it was, because he knew—he knew—he couldn't function without Ziva, and he had a glimpse of what would have happened if she had tried to carry this pregnancy to term.

He felt—constriction in his chest, inability to breathe, to move, he couldn't speak, or hear, or do anything, and he wondered with a crushing sense of dread if this is what Gibbs felt ever waking moment of his life.

And then it had been over, and the doctor said she was fine, and she was asleep, and he'd nearly sobbed with relief.

"I thought I lost you," DiNozzo said.

"You did not," Ziva answered him, still clutching his hand firmly.

Her eyes met his and she moved closer, seeking a more intimate embrace. He scooted a little closer, running his hand over her back.

His fingers brushed her chest again; she looked so naked without the star.

"Ziva," he said quietly. He shook his head. "Are you sure—the Star of David?" he asked hesitantly.

She was silent a long time.

"It is intended for the first born daughter," she answered finally, repeating her earlier words.

She pressed her lips together until they were white, and closed her eyes. He swallowed hard—what if she regretted that? That necklace meant so much to her; he didn't want her to throw it away.

He hesitated.

"You could give it to Al or, uh, if he has a daughter," Tony paused. "Or we might—"

It was such a stupid thing to say. She shook her head, and a painful noise escaped her lips.

"We will not," she said firmly. "_I_ will not."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, nodding. He murmured her name softly, mentally kicking himself for being so insensitive.

"She breathed, Ziva," he said hoarsely, his voice low. "I felt her breathe. She had a fighter's heart."

Ziva looked at him hollowly.

"I made her fight," she said. "She lost."

He kissed her cheek this time, pushing his forehead into hers. She didn't pull away, but he was struck suddenly with the sense that she was looking at him with resentment, and as much as it hurt, it inflamed him with guilt he couldn't shake—because he wished he'd never persuaded her, wished he'd never said—

_Three's a good number, Ziva, c'mon. Let's have another one—just one more; maybe it will be a girl._

* * *

_feedback appreciated_  
_-alexandra_


	4. Shalosh

_a/n: more Ziva's perspective in this chapter, and a little wisdom from Gibbs (I can't resist; my pen works best when it's pointed at Gibbs!)_

_thanks for your responses, guys; i really appreciate it! _

* * *

_Hadassah  
~shalosh~_

* * *

Ziva felt an empty kind of pain throbbing in her chest. She felt like she was choking; she reached up to loosen her necklace, to slip her fingers in it, and panicked silently when she found nothing at her throat—only to remember why she was bare.

She felt naked without it, but the thought of it caused a burn to flare in her skin where it usually rested.

She looked down at the loose bundle of myrtle flowers in her lap and jostled her hands through them softly, something that resembled a smile touching her lips as she admired the white and lavender beauty, and breathed in the scent.

She took one in her hand, broke the petals, and sprinkled them over fresh, dark dirt. Sitting on the grass next to her, Tony looked over, squinting in the sun as he watched the slight breeze blow them around.

The hospital had taken care of the burial, but Ziva had quietly requested they be told where she was. She wanted to say a prayer—he understood none of the Hebrew that passed her lips, but he bought her the flowers she asked for, and didn't press her to tell him why she wanted myrtle blossoms.

He was walking on eggshells around her; he was barely holding it together himself—but she was so unbowed, so strong, that he made himself carry on like she did; the moment Gibbs had brought the boys home Wednesday night, she had taken back her life, sank her teeth into being their mother, and doing what she could while she recovered—she couldn't work, and that made her angry, made her snap at him.

He leaned over and rested his head and shoulders against her leg. Her skin was burning hot—the summer was brutal—and his hair was sweaty and damp against her skin; she didn't mind. She knew Tony was hurting. She didn't know how to reach out to him, because she couldn't convince herself she wasn't responsible for his pain.

The ultimate decision had been hers. She could never take it back. She closed her eyes, parted her lips, and brushed flower petals off her lap.

"Ziva," he murmured, his lips against her knee.

"Tony?" she answered.

"We don't," he started. "Look, we don't have to go over to Gibbs'," he said uncertainly. "No one will blame us."

"I want to go," she said tensely.

"Ziva."

He wanted to be alone with her; she sensed it—and she wanted to be alone with him, too; but she still needed time to figure out how to put her grief into words. She was doing her best, and he was supporting her brilliantly. She was better than she ever used to be—she didn't balk, she didn't run, but often, she still didn't talk. She let him comfort her, but _she didn't talk_.

He was worse at handling the trauma; he was prone to losing his patience with the kids and he was constantly on edge.

He tilted is head back, his jaw tight. He looked up at her dejectedly.

They were always at Gibbs' on Sundays; things were different now. They all had families; Gibbs awakened to some epiphany that induced him to pull the team closer instead of pushing them away. There would be kids, friends—Tony didn't want to go; he didn't want to hear condolences or—or anything.

Anthony and Elijah were already there; Abby had picked them up and taken them over so Ziva could have her private service.

Tony's eyes were on her chest, fixated on the spot where her necklace should be. He swallowed hard, and his throat ached. He thought of the white gold in a jewelry box at home, the one he had bought for her and had personalized on a whim, and wasn't sure if he hated himself for doing it or if it might mean something to her some day.

He still lay awake at night; thinking of that tiny, butterfly heartbeat.

He found himself wishing she had opened her eyes just for a second, so he could see if they were Ziva's or his—but he'd never know.

Ziva leaned forward, brushing more flower petals off of her lap. There were other small graves in the vicinity, and she thought briefly of their parents—she hardly thought she belonged here. She quite abruptly wanted to be far from the cemetery before she threw up—she wanted to be with her boys.

She stood, scattering flowers.

"Let's go," she said, too quickly. "Tony."

He scrambled up, brushing dirt off of him. There were a few flowers in his hands, and he looked apprehensive.

"Home?" he offered carefully.

She rounded on him.

"I am not going to lose it," she snarled, vicious suddenly. "I have weathered tragedy before; I can do it again. I cannot—be broken."

She turned on her heel and stormed away, and he stared after her, stunned, guilty, frustrated. _Dammit_, Ziva—why couldn't she understand that she was brittle and fragile and realize that she _couldn't_ heal until she broke a little?

He wanted to shout right back at her, knock some sense into her, and at the same time he felt meek; if he was suffering, it was nothing compared to what she was going through—right? It was her body; there was something in motherhood he would never understand.

He scuffed his foot in the dirt and crouched to sweep up a few flowers. He followed her, jingling the keys in his pocket. She was leaning stiffly against the car, a hard look around her jaw and mouth. Her hair blew in the wind, and he came to stand in front of her.

He said nothing, but he took her hand and pushed the flowers into it, pressing them to her palm until the scent was crushed out and heavy in the air.

"It only hurts if you let it," he said—because she had said it once, a long time ago.

He said it now not because he meant it, but to remind her that it wasn't true.

She raised her hand, and he thought she was going to slap him. She didn't—she stroked his cheek, and then she leaned forward, pressing her head into his chest. He put his hands on her shoulders.

The myrtle flowers crumpled in her fingers.

* * *

It was one of those Sundays that everyone was there—and for a few, it was the first time they had seen Ziva since she announced her last pregnancy. Tony was uncomfortable before they walked in; he felt awkward and he didn't know what to expect.

The first person to spot them was Abby, and she flew to Ziva so quickly that he almost leapt at her to keep her back. She hugged Ziva, hugged her tightly, and beamed at her—and miraculously, she said nothing, and Ziva just nodded. There was a silent moment of understanding, and then Elijah and Anthony where at Ziva's feet, shouting for her attention.

Ziva smiled, and it looked so genuine—it had to be; their boys were a real comfort for her injured soul. Tony relaxed slightly, though he was hesitant about letting his guard down.

"Ima, Gunny is cooking barbecue!" Anthony said excitedly, apparently having forgiven Gibbs for the spanking incident.

Ducky was approaching them, and Elijah was trying to crawl up Ziva's leg. She finally picked him up, touched her nose to his, and leaned forward to kiss Ducky's cheek.

"My dear," he murmured gently.

She inclined her head.

Jimmy shouted a hello, but when Tony looked over to answer, he was busy trying to pry his eight-year-old twins away from each other—the little boy was yanking the little girl's pigtails, and she was screaming and trying to push him into the dirt. Tony smiled—Palmer's kids were notoriously mean to each other, and while it sent Jimmy into a panic, Breena always handled it with grace and sweetness.

McGee and Maxine were arguing in a corner by Gibbs' fence. She looked unhappy; McGee looked uncomfortable. Ducky retreated—and then Ziva's lips were next to his ear.

"Maxine is upset because we are here," she murmured.

Tony turned to her, and he automatically pulled Elijah's thumb from his mouth and popped it twice with a stern look. He gave his wife a questioning look and she raised her eyebrow, a thin smile on her face.

"Max likes us," Tony said.

Ziva tilted her head, glancing over, reading lips again—it was a pesky habit she had, a skill she began to pick up in Mossad, and perfected with Abby for the hell of it. She tossed her dark hair back and made a quiet noise in her throat.

"She is pregnant," Ziva said quietly. "She feels," Ziva squinted. She shrugged. "She just found out. She thinks it is unfair."

Tony blinked at Ziva, dumbfounded. She clicked her tongue softly, her eyes fixed on the blonde beauty berating McGee for something that really—he couldn't help.

"She thinks it is bad enough they brought Kit, and Kit is a baby—ah," Ziva broke off. "She is ridiculous," she snapped tensely. "I do not begrudge them a child."

She let Elijah slide from her arms and nudged him towards Anthony. Tony crouched down to interact with them, and Ziva stepped away. She stood near the grill and watched Gibbs, quiet, thinking of Maxine's distress.

He turned to her after a moment and looked at her—she saw him notice her missing necklace and his eyes narrowed. He gestured to the meat on the charcoal with a poker and raised an eyebrow.

She inclined her head.

"I am keeping kosher at the moment," she said, a little stiffly. It was an aspect of her mourning—for her, personally.

He just nodded. He put down the poker he was using and studied her.

"You need a drink?" he asked.

Her eyes flickered at his use of the word _need_ rather than want. She turned and looked at her boys, now playing a game of tag with Palmer's twins. DiNozzo was arguing with McGee now, but from what she could sparsely see, it had to do with his influencing the kids to be geeks—not her.

She leaned closer to Gibbs.

"Yes," she agreed emphatically.

She followed him into the cool house, and she expected to be led to the basement; instead, he beckoned her into the kitchen.

"You are not offering me bourbon?" she snorted, surprised.

She sounded so normal, it almost put Gibbs off—though he expected it; Ziva was like him in that respect. She steeled herself, and she fought on. She had been frighteningly _okay_ the night he brought the boys home.

He shook his head.

"Whisky," he muttered, and grunted. "You get a shot of that in you," he paused, and shook his head. "You'll never stop."

She sensed there was sage experience in his words, and she accepted them. She took the beer her offered her and twisted it open. He watched her sharply; the edge of the bottle cap tore her skin a little, and she seemed to appreciate the pain.

She wasn't sure she liked the way Gibbs was looking at her, and she leaned casually against the counter—slouched, really.

"I hear Tony is growling like an angry bear at work," she said coolly. "Channeling you, Gibbs."

"Yeah? Who tattled on him?"

She held up a finger.

"One guess."

Abby.

Gibbs shrugged.

"He's havin' a hard time, Ziver," he said, an edge to his voice. He looked at her intently—as if he were trying to force her to shatter, and admit that she was having a hard time, too.

He was Gibbs, and she could not lie to him. This was the man who had been a father when she hated hers, and who had then stepped back and let her grieve for her father even though she couldn't understand why she suddenly loved him so much after all that had happened. He had walked her down the aisle, helped her weather the storm of self-doubt after her first baby, he had given her his blessing when she left NCIS—he was, next to Tony, the rock she could wholly depend on.

"It is a hard time," she allowed bluntly.

His blue eyes felt like ice as they burned into hers. She wondered if his daughter had shared his piercing eyes—she wondered if the little girl who had died in the hospital Tuesday had shared Tony's eyes.

Her throat locked up and she almost heaved, the pain was suddenly so awful. She bent forward and Gibbs took her arm, startled.

"Ziva," he grunted sharply.

Her knuckles were white on the bottle, and she breathed through the grief. It hadn't struck her so badly—since she had heard Tony's short, coughing, struggling sort of angry crying in the middle of the night Friday.

She took another deep breath, and she smelled the myrtle flowers—that calmed her somehow.

She straightened up and took a drink.

"I am fine."

Her voice betrayed her. The look on his face was angry but empathetic, and she found her words bubbling to her lips before she could stop them—

"It is better that I never knew her, yes?" she asked hoarsely. "It would be worse to lose Eli, or Al. It is not the same as losing Kelly."

Gibbs looked at her sharply.

"You think your grief is selfish?" he asked, almost accusatory.

Her eyes were stony. He shook his head, a mirthless laugh escaping his lips.

"Tellin' yourself that—won't make it better," he growled quietly. "You gotta let it hurt."

It was so different from what she usually told herself. She opened her mouth furiously, trying to berate him into telling her to get over it, that she had no right to be so heartbroken when she was the one who had decided to nip the life in the bud. She wanted him to marginalize her so she could be mad, so she could get over it—

There was a baby crying. For a moment, she thought she was going crazy. Her stomach ached, her ears hurt, her heart throbbed—she felt empty. She felt like she was choking again, and reached for that missing necklace.

_No_, she thought, _you buried it with her. With the myrtle flowers._

She realized slowly it was Maxine's baby crying—she and McGee must have put Kit to sleep in Gibbs' bedroom. She felt so hollow; she had come home from the hospital after the pain of labor and the stress of delivery with no baby to cry, no baby to nurse and sleep against her, and she felt _empty_.

Instinctively, she left the kitchen—and her drink—and she followed the sound. She found Kit crying and waving her fists in the darkened room and she picked her up and flicked on the light.

She murmured softly, expertly soothing the baby. Kit wasn't tiny—she was eight or nine months old, but she squalled unhappily until she realized Ziva, though she wasn't her mother, was soft and warm, and she started to calm down.

Ziva perched Kit on her hip and brushed her thin, blonde hair back, smiling at her gently. She calmed down slowly, sniffling, her wide, green McGee eyes staring at Ziva.

Maxine stumbled into the room, curled blonde hair flying. She looked stricken.

"Ziva," she said hurriedly. "Ziva, I'm so sorry, you could have ignored her—"

"Max," Gibbs said sharply, taking her shoulder.

Tony was in the doorway; he looked livid.

"Jesus, Maxine," he growled, provoked uneasily.

"Tony," Ziva warned.

"You don't have to give her a goddamn reminder," Tony swore.

Ziva's face darkened at his aggression. Maxine covered her face—she was the youngest of them all; she was feisty and friendly but she was easily made to feel like an outsider, and the way Tony jumped her injured Ziva.

Gibbs eyed Tony warily.

Ziva held his gaze coolly for a moment and then turned to the baby, who had started to whimper.

"There," she soothed gently, lowering her voice. She turned to Maxine. "There is your Mama," she said encouragingly.

Kit put her arms around Maxine's neck. Maxine's eyes watered.

"Ziva," she began shakily.

Ziva touched her shoulder briefly and parted her lips, shaking away the apology. She was relieved to hold the baby—it eased the emptiness, just for a moment; it made her want her boys badly.

She stepped up to Tony and took his arm in hers, gripping harshly.

"You owe her an apology, DiNozzo," she growled, and he flinched at her reversion to his surname.

She gave Gibbs a brief, heavy look.

"I will get the boys," she said tensely. "I think—we will go home."

* * *

Tony felt like a schoolboy—he was flushed, chastised; he felt small, stupid. He was ashamed at himself for shouting at Maxine. He was sorry Ziva felt the need to run from the people she wanted to be with. He was angry—irrationally angry—that McGee had the nerve to have that healthy baby girl, and another one on the way.

He rubbed his jaw, pacing the kitchen. Ziva was situating the boys in the car; Gibbs was holding Tony captive until he calmed down. He pierced him with an old glare, one of the good ones; it burned and punished, and Tony got the point harshly—he finally stopped abruptly and glared right back at Gibbs.

"What?" he snarled.

"She's not okay, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly.

"You think I don't know that?" barked Tony. He pointed to himself. "_I'm_ not okay." He sounded almost selfish when he said it. "She's a goddamn statue and I can't go five minutes without making one of my kids cry 'cause I'm so torn up," he ranted.

He smacked one of his hands into the other.

"I held that baby in my arms, boss," he hissed. "I held my daughter in my arms—her first breath was her last—breath." DiNozzo shook his head wildly, his eyes red. "Ziva thinks she _killed_ her. How'm I supposed to take care of her? She's dealing with it how she can."

Tony stopped. He stared at Gibbs, and then he slouched, dejected.

"She hasn't cried," he said desperately. "She won't _cry_, Boss."

"You gotta make her cry, DiNozzo," Gibbs said curtly.

Tony's face contorted angrily.

"No," he snapped furiously. "She doesn't want to. I hate seein' her cry. I feel helpless. I'm not gonna _make_ her cry," he snarled, spitting the words at Gibbs as if it he had asked Tony to slap Ziva out of it. His eyes flashed. "Anyone ever make _you_ cry?" he asked harshly.

It was clear he was referring to Shannon and Kelly—and Gibbs said nothing for a moment, but the silence was so poignant that DiNozzo swallowed half of his anger and deflated some. Gibbs gave him a long, hard look—and Tony felt selfish and better all at once, and that was the frustrating thing about Gibbs.

"No," Gibbs said darkly. "You ever think maybe someone should have?" he asked roughly. "You want Ziva to be like I was for the rest of her life?"

The weight of the question sank in, and the fight was sapped from Tony. He turned and put his head in his hands, nearly rubbing the skin off his face. He shook his head violently. Of course he didn't want that—he wanted his wife, he didn't want a shell, a shadow of Ziva.

Gibbs was right—he was always right—he was going to have to drag it out of Ziva; no matter how much it hurt.

"Tony."

He thought it was Gibbs.

"What?" he barked, jerking upwards.

It was Ziva. He winced—she just looked at him calmly.

"Anthony has a cut on his eye; Jimmy's son pushed him into the stones. Elijah has a fever," she said dully, with a sort of accepting shrug. It explained his listlessness the past few days—they had chalked it up to his worry about his mother. "We need to go home."

Tony said nothing. He took the keys from his pocket and threw them to her—he knew she would want to drive.

He caught Gibbs' eye on the way out, and gave him a steeled, determined nod.

* * *

Ziva dealt with Elijah's ailment, and it fell to Tony to tend to Anthony's head wound. It was a superficial cut, and he was fine, bragging about it like it was a battle scar. Elijah fussed with Ziva, tried to refuse a thermometer, finally took it, and fell asleep after some Tylenol and a Benadryl.

Ziva disappeared to the shower, and Tony restlessly set Anthony up in front of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. He watched it, mesmerized in an instant, and Tony stood up, leaving the living room and prowling to find Ziva.

He knew Anthony was good for an hour and a half—Disney moves had that effect on him—and he made the bold decision to slip into the shower with Ziva. He had no sexual motives; it was too soon for any of that, and they were too fragile. He just wanted to be with her, ease her stress a little.

She looked surprised, but she made room for him, and he pulled her against his chest and worked shampoo through her thick hair.

"Where's Al?" she asked.

"With Quasimodo and Esmeralda," Tony grunted. He kissed her temple. "Probably sneakin' a few Oreos."

"I asked you to put them on a higher shelf," she admonished softly.

Her hands ran over him, and he couldn't help his physical reaction. He gave her an apologetic look; she pressed her lips to his chest. He continued to massage the shampoo from her hair, until she slipped away from him, and ran her hands over the hard muscles in his thighs. His hands slid through her hair. She started to sink down to her knees.

"Ziva," he protested sharply, gripping her hair.

She pushed at him, ignoring his protest.

He tangled his hands in her hair, and closed his eyes tightly.

* * *

She dried off slowly, her movements ginger as she got between her legs and around her stomach. He shoved his hand through his hair a few times, shaking water out, and then pulled on boxers and a t-shirt while she combed a brush through her hair.

"You want my NCIS T-shirt?" he called.

She shook her head, and then spoke up.

"The old t-shirt I nursed Eli in," she requested.

There was scuffling around, and then he brought a pair of panties and the frayed, faded old Redskins shirt in for her. She slipped them on and brushed her teeth. He watched her, swallowing hard.

"I'm gonna go put Anthony in bed," he said, in an awkwardly loud voice. She looked at him warily.

"Check on Eli," she said. "Feel his temperature."

She brushed her teeth vigorously—too vigorously for his taste; he thought he spotted blood on her gums. He went to move Anthony from his sprawled nap on the living room floor to his bed, and then he checked Eli. The three-year-old moaned in his sleep, but he wasn't threateningly warm, and Tony kissed his forehead and left him alone.

"He's sleepin' it off," he said, leaving their bedroom door cracked—as they always did, in case a kid needed something urgently.

Ziva nodded. She hung a towel on the bathroom door and ran her hands through her hair.

"Ziva," he said.

"I am tired," she confessed.

"Ziva," he said again, more firmly, indicating he wanted to talk.

She ignored him; she tried to walk past him.

"It has been a bad day, Tony," she warned.

He caught her arm tightly.

"It's been a pretty bad week," he said sharply, sarcasm lacing his tone. He turned her gently to face him, and put his other arm on her shoulder, facing her resolutely. "C'mon," he coaxed abruptly. "Let's do it."

She made an exasperated noise.

"The shower was not enough for you?" she asked nastily—and it pissed him off, because he hadn't asked for her to do it, she'd insisted, and she knew damn well he wasn't begging for sex.

He let go of her like he'd been burned and stepped back angrily.

"Let's get it out, Ziva," he pushed. "You gotta give me something."

She folded her arms almost protectively across her chest, like body armor. She lifted her chin stubbornly.

"What do you want me to do, Tony?" she asked harshly. "You want me to wallow? To drown in misery? I have two children who do not need to see their mother like that—two children I suffered very much to be here for. I will not let you criticize me—"

"I'm not criticizing you, and you are drowning!" Tony interrupted loudly, taking a firm stance opposite her. "I'm not picking a fight. I want you to talk to me about this. I want to know what's in your head."

"I cannot changed what happened," she said stiffly. "It was out of my hands the moment they said she was in distress."

Tony lunged forward desperately, holding his hands out.

"Ziva," he growled, trying to find a way to get to her. "You're actin' like you don't feel anything. I understand you don't want to scare the kids, I know we've got to be parents, but Eli and Al aren't the only two we've got to feel for right now—you've got a right to lose a little cool—she died, Ziva! Your baby—"

"My baby?" she snarled, rounding on him. "Mine? Yes—it is my fault, is it not? My choice, my decision to—"

"Our baby," he corrected, talking over her. He grabbed her shoulder, and she tried to spin away from him. "It's not your fault, goddamnit, how many times to I have to tell you that? It just happened, _Jesus_!" He faltered, and then pointed to himself harshly. "Look, I'm the one who wanted a third kid, I pushed this on you—I wouldn't let it go, and then—this happened, and it's a nightmare, and I'm losing it over here, Ziva, I can't tell if you hate me for making you have another baby and it all going to hell—"

"You did not _make_ me have another baby, Tony!" she cried, grasping his shirt in her hands. "Yes, I was reluctant. Yes, I only wanted two, but I agreed! We decided together! This is not your fault you selfish—I will not let you take this on your shoulders—"

"I won't let you take it on yours, either," he shouted curtly. "You did everything right! You always do. You did everything you could to fix this, but it just didn't work, Ziva, it just wasn't meant to be—"

"If I had waited," she said coldly. "Two more weeks, her lungs would have been fine—she would have struggled, but she would have lived—

"You don't know that!" his voice was panicked. "Your kidneys were going to shut down. You would have died having that baby—you think I can take care of three kids without you? We agreed that Eli and Al need you—you've got to understand that I need you too—"

"I might not have died—you do not know—"

"We don't know!" he cried. "That's the goddamn point, we don't know what would have happened—we had to act! You can't think you did something wrong, you can't blame yourself, it's no one's fault—"

Ziva lifted her hands, covered her face, and started to cry. Her shoulders shook. He grabbed her and pulled her tightly to him, wrapping his arms around her. It pained him to see her, but relief flooded through him. She clutched his shoulders and her lithe body shook against him.

"I killed her, Tony," she sobbed. "I killed her."

He shook his head, his lips moving in her hair.

"You didn't kill her, Ziva," he said hoarsely. "You didn't kill her—don't do that to yourself. The science…the same stuff, all the crap that makes it possible for us to see her and make sure she's healthy—it detects these problems and it makes these choices necessary…if this were a hundred years ago…we never would have known, we wouldn't have had to chose…some...look...I don't want to tell you God wanted this to happen but nature," he choked on his words. "Nature had already chosen, Ziva. It _was_ out of our hands."

She held him tightly, her sobs muffled in his shirt. She was mumbling in Hebrew.

She pushed her hands against him, tilting her head up.

"I know you wanted that baby," she cried hoarsely. "You—you wanted three so badly and I had to—I had to terminated it and I felt like you weren't looking at me," she paused.

He slid his hand over her cheek heavily, pushing his forehead into hers.

"I don't blame you," he said sincerely. "Ziva…I thought you'd resent me—for pushing you, for making all those jokes about the third time being the charm, three being a better number."

Her lips shook. Her face was slick with tears.

"I was reluctant—I was content with two, but once we decided, once I was pregnant, I wanted her Tony. I wanted—I have always wanted a little girl. I love the boys, I love them more than you know, but I was so happy that this one was a girl and I—I lost her—I wouldn't even _hold_ her."

He pulled her close again, and for a long time, he didn't say anything. For all the heartache in the room, he felt better, lighter. It was healthier to have it out in the open—his guilt, her fears, and their shared grief.

He took her over to the bed and brought her tumbling down with him, crawling over her and curling up with her. He pushed her hair back, tangling his legs into hers, and she burrowed closer, resting her head on his chest.

Even after her shower, even hours later, she still smelled like the myrtle flowers from the cemetery.

He ran his hand over her back.

"Tell me about the flowers," he pleaded. "The myrtle flowers."

She tried to steady her breath.

"I was going to—I wanted to name her Hadassah," she said painfully, her words raw, like they were stretched over too much time. "I love the name—"

"Hadassah," he repeated slowly. "What does it—say it again?"

"Hadassah," she whispered. "It is Hebrew—it is the Jewish version of Esther, it means myrtle. Hadassah saved her people from Persian persecution, she was my favorite biblical woman…she reminded me of my mother, of my sister, of the women in my life who loved me," Ziva bit her lip. She closed her eyes. "You got away with naming Elijah after Kate Todd…I wanted my little girl to be Hadassah…I wanted to call her _Haddie_."

Tony let her words sink in, still stroking her back—so she had named her, it had been bad for her, because she'd given this baby a name and then she'd had to make the impossible choice to take it away.

"We can call her that," he said earnestly.

"She is dead."

"She took a breath, Ziva," he said painfully. "He let me hold her—I felt her heartbeat. She deserves the name. She earned it," he touched her lips with his. "Just give it to her. Call her Hadassah."

Ziva's fingers brushed at her throat. She grit her teeth.

"The pendant belonged to her," she whispered huskily. "I—I feel empty without it…It was hers by right but I…I want it, to remember her."

Tony swallowed hard. He debated a moment, and then rolled over, fumbling in the drawer beside him. He took the jewelry box out and clutched it in his hand, turning back over.

He felt anxious.

"That tradition—I know you want to honor it; I thought you might be upset," he paused, and held out the box. "I got you this, on Friday…I had them fix it," she looked too upset to take it, so he opened it for her.

It was a white gold Star of David on a clean silver chain—and on each of the six points, a small, salty green gem shone.

She reached out, and she touched it lightly, her lips parting.

"Tony," she began.

"They're peridots," he said nervously. "It's her, uh," he struggled. "It's her—birthstone. I know she should have been born in December but I thought that was…too painful," he broke off, and she was stricken, realizing he thought she would be angry or upset—but she just couldn't understand how she felt.

She took the necklace gently from the box and clutched it in her hands. She lay down, and he slowly lay down next to her, reaching for her head. He pushed his hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he said honestly. "God, I'm so sorry. I can't stand to see you like this. I just—I needed to know you were hurting, too," he managed. "Look, we can get through this I just…I didn't want you to be Gibbs," he explained. "I'm sorry I've been an asshole to the boys. It's killing me, too. It's easier if I know you're not okay, either."

She nodded. She held the necklace to her lips, closing her eyes. He shifted, and then he was taking it from her, and gently moving her hair back, and draping it around her neck. The cold jewel touched her skin, and she felt inexplicably more whole—like a piece of her was back.

She touched his neck.

"I love you," she told him.

He held her wrists. He said it back, and kissed her chastely.

Their door opened, and before they could blink, their kids were on the bed—Anthony, wide-awake and staring; Eli, groggy and blotchy-faced. He immediately crawled to Ziva and snuggled up to her, coughing.

"We heard you fighting," Anthony said. "Eli got scared."

"C'mere, son."

Anthony, in a rare moment of sweetness, threw himself at his father and held onto him.

"Is Ima sad about the baby sister?" he asked, whispering.

She heard him. She reached out and tousled his hair, unbelievably glad to have them here with her now.

She nodded.

"Yes," she gave in shakily, accepting it. "Ima is sad about the baby sister, sweetheart," she admitted.

Tony let out a deep breath—and she felt some of the pain in her chest subside. She was hurting, she did want to cry about it for days—and maybe she'd cry a little more—but she had to start easing up on herself. She had to start accepting that she could grieve, she could want what she'd lost, and she didn't have to label herself a killer—she wanted that little girl, any mother wanted her child, but her boys needed her. Tony needed her.

Tony was right—it had been out of their hands, and she had to—start to heal from it.

"Was baby gonna be named?" Eli asked sleepily, in a small voice.

Ziva kissed him protectively. She pointed to her necklace.

Tony leaned forward, and tapped Eli affectionately under the chin.

"Hadassah," he told him gruffly.

Eli whispered,

"Shiva."

* * *

_Hadassah_  
_myrtle flower; Esther's Hebrew name_  
_savior of her people_  
_wife of Xerxes _

_end._

* * *

_well, i hope you've 'enjoyed' this little angst nightmare of mine. i usually keep my trauma in the jibbs fandom so...consider yourselves lucky?  
i love writing Tony & Ziva with Eli & Anthony, so perhaps i'll be back_

_feedback appreciated  
-alexandra_


End file.
